


All I Want For Christmas Is You (Shutting The Hell Up)

by seriousfic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Swan-Mills family is going to have a merry Christmas if it kills Emma. (It probably won't kill her.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The feud between Regina and everyone who wasn't Henry had entered détente, like the US and Russia, or vegans and seafood. After helping banish Cora, saving Granny from a curse, and not having anything to do with Gold burning down the department store, her popularity was at an all-time high. Which was why she wasn't stoned in the streets when she started handing out fliers for her Christmas party.

 

But Storybrooke came around. She had the only house in town big enough to take a celebration from _House Party_ to _House Party 4: Da Party Goes Inta Orbit!_ Henry had also promised there'd be free food. And Emma, roped into it by Henry, had promised free booze. In turn, the Charmings (roped in by Emma) had promised they would be there, along with the mistletoe, appealing to everyone but Foody the Asexual Dwarf.

 

Regina, for her part, had assured everyone she wouldn't use apples in her cooking.

 

Though the guests wore a variety of body armor and protective charms, it was a successful party. Regina was kept busy making refreshments, which she had always enjoyed, and which meant she didn't have to socialize much. Both sides were happy with that, though Henry wasn't.

 

"It's _your_ party, they have to be nice to you! You paid for the drinks!"

 

Regina buzzed around the kitchen, following some arcane ritual for which chips went in which serving bowl. "Beer doesn't make up for cursing people for thirty years. Not American beer, at any rate."

 

"But it's _Christmas._ "

 

On occasion, Regina could be even more obstinate than Henry, just not as childishly. "It wasn't my idea to have a party. I wanted to stay in and watch a Christmas movie with you. I was even willing to rent _Die Hard_ , despite its R rating."

 

Henry heaved a sigh. She had to rub it in. Everyone said Die Hard was a classic, but even Emma wouldn't let him watch it. Emma was willing to go scream for scream with Regina, but not over a movie, even a Bruce Willis movie.

 

Wait, that was it!

 

***

 

Emma showed up next in Regina's kitchen, wearing an abbreviated Santa suit that Regina privately thought of as _ill-advised._ One of those red minidresses with white trim that, if Mrs. Claus did wear it, put her way out of a fat old elf's league. It showed off a bit much of the only charms Emma seemed to possess.

 

"C'mon, your highness, everyone's singing Christmas carols. Now, I didn't curse anyone and I have to do it, so you're _definitely_ in."

 

"You're going to lecture me on the joy of consequences?"

 

Emma felt the headache that _was_ Regina's tag-team partner jump into the ring. "Is there anything alcoholic in this kitchen?"

 

"The eggnog has beer in it."

 

Emma poured herself a glass of nog and sipped it, promising herself she'd go easy. (Eggnog count: 1).

 

"Well, it would've made Henry happy, so I'm not surprised."

 

"I'm sorry, you must've picked up some slang in prison I don't understand; what were you implying?"

 

"Just that, in the past, when there's been a choice between Henry's well-being and, say, continuing your blood feud against a six-year-old…"

 

Regina's eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared. She stared at Emma like a wrestler about to challenge the world champion to a cage match at the next pay-per-view. Then something funny happened.

 

Regina faltered. Her breathing slowed to a near stop, her eyes lost focus, and she bit her lip instead of saying something about Emma having premarital sex. She actually looked vulnerable, and Emma actually felt mean for sassing her.

 

The ex-mayor recovered quickly. "I'll lip-sync. I won't sing."

 

***

 

Regina made it through Carol of the Bells and Deck The Halls, but Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was enough to make her tap. The half-empty punch bowl was too much of a temptation. She went to refill it and at a look from Henry, Emma went to corral her.

 

"Regina, wait—" She grabbed Regina's arm in the doorway, right under the mistletoe. Emma didn't notice until Regina looked up.

 

"Don't even think about it."

 

Emma let go of her arm. "We're about to open presents. Stay that long, at least. We got you something."

 

The stare Regina gave her now was downright confused. It took a moment to harden. "We need more punch. Stop trying to be nice to me."

 

She left Emma stewing. "Or what, they'll kick you out of the Legion of Doom?"

 

She looked to Henry, who gave her puppy dog eyes from across the room. Fine. Emma stalked into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter. She didn't look at Regina. She looked at the glass of eggnog she was pouring herself. (Eggnog Count: 2)

 

"You have two minutes to get that punch bowl full and come back to the party. Or I tell you what David and Mary-Margaret did on Valentine's Day."

 

"You expect me to believe you would use your parents' love against me?"

 

"First, David hid a bunch of paper hearts around town and sent Mary-Margaret on a scavenger hunt. Each one had a love poem on it. The first one went like this—"

 

Regina slammed the punch bowl down hard enough for a lake to slosh over the side. " _Fine!_ If you're so determined to torment me that you want me at a party where I'm clearly not welcome, then fine. I surrender."

 

"Who said they didn't want you at the party?" Emma asked. That was all she needed, someone antagonizing the Wicked Witch.

 

"You don't have to _say it._ I _know."_ Regina had grabbed a towel and was rubbing at the spill like it was graffiti of an obscene word. "You and Snow White, you always play the innocent, but you know exactly what you're doing. It's Christmas, so you extend an olive branch and pat yourselves on the back for what good people that makes you. And tomorrow, you'll shut me out again without a second thought."

 

"How would you know? You never give us a chance."

 

"I did! When you and Snow were gone, I did everything I could to support David. I even let him have Henry. And just when my son started looking at me without wincing, _you_ came back. And not one hour later, your big happy family was having dinner without me."

 

Emma was almost speechless. _That?_ Regina was upset over that? "You didn't ask to come."

 

"I shouldn't have to! _Dopey_ doesn't ask to come to dinner!"

 

Emma took a deep, deep breath. "Regina, would you like to come to our Christmas party? We'd all really like it if you showed. And I got you a present. Henry got you a present, I helped pay for it, so don't set it on fire, okay?"

 

Regina rolled her eyes. "I don't set things on fire."

 

***

 

Regina opened her present slowly, clearly bracing herself to hate it. At least she came off authentically surprised when it ended up being a stylish handbag, exactly the kind of thing she loved toting around town. "Thank you, Henry, I love it."

 

"Thank Emma, she picked it out."

 

"I just… thought it looked like something you might wear. He came up with the idea of getting you a purse."

 

Still grinning as if she were unsure of what to do with the expression, Regina set the purse demurely aside. She wasn't quite blushing, but her ears were red. "I got you something." Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Regina removed a present from under the tree like she was playing Jenga. She set it in front of Emma. If Emma had been told it was a firebomb and she had thirty seconds to disarm it, she would've looked up at Regina with the same look on her face.

 

"Open it!" Henry said.

 

Emma pulled the ribbon. Once it was gone, the wrapping paper opened up like a lotus blossom. Of course.

 

Inside was a copy of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Raising Kids. "I thought," Regina said weakly, "since we're… raising Henry together, in a way…"

 

"I get it," Emma said. "Gag gift. Thanks." She picked up a glass of eggnog Grumpy had left on the piano and _guzzled._ (Eggnog count: 3)

 

***

 

Henry's father couldn't attend; lingering problems with the Curse; but he sent a present through the mail. Henry opened it excitedly; the Curse didn't cover Skype, and over it Neal had promised his gift would make up for at least three missed Christmases.

 

"Holy crap!" With enough wrapping paper to cloth a small child around Henry, the massive present was revealed—a Nerf Pulse Rifle, with Super Soaker capability, rapid-fire dart launcher, and underbarrel water balloon launch capacity. If WW2 had been fought by children, the Nerf Pulse Rifle would've won it.

 

"Does that have an attached laser target?" Emma asked.

 

"It does!"

 

"Can I see it?" Regina asked. Henry eagerly handed the box to her. She strained a little under the weight. "This seems a little dangerous. Look, there's a choking hazard."

 

Emma finished another glass of eggnog. (Eggnog Count: 4) "Henry, promise not to chew on it?" He nodded. "We're good."

 

"Emma," Regina said seriously, in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

 

"Regina," Emma replied, in a tone that said _I have prison tats._

 

"Emma."

 

"Regina."

 

_"Emma."_

"Regina."

 

"Fine!" Regina said, already planning the rant she'd go on when Henry shot his eye out. "I have cookies in the oven," she said, making for the door. This time, Henry let her go.

 

She came back during the first five minutes of A Muppet Christmas Carol, setting a plate of cookies and a pitcher of milk down on the coffin table. "You can have five," she told Henry.

 

Emma patted the empty couch next to her and Henry. "Saved you a seat."

 

Regina sat down primly, like she wasn't quite sure what year the cushion had last been cleaned. After a moment, she reached over to put her arm around Henry. Henry was already snuggling into Regina. Her hand landed on Emma's upper arm, but she gave Emma a look saying 'wanna make something of it?'

 

"M'lady needs some more hot cocoa," David said, standing up with Mary-Margaret's empty mug. "Anyone need anything?"

 

"More eggnog," Emma said.

 

***

 

(Eggnog count: 5)

 

***

 

Ruby arrived late. Ever since it'd started snowing, she'd spending a lot of time in wolf-form, chasing snowflakes around. As soon as Regina opened the door, she handed her a fruitcake. "Granny made it. Merry Christmas!"

 

"When I was queen, a regent gave me a fruitcake once. I made him eat nothing but fruitcake for an entire year. By the end, his bowels—"

 

"Wow, are those real figs?" Emma asked, taking the fruitcake before Regina could continue.

 

"Yes!" Ruby said, ducking past Regina to join the party.

 

Regina stood in the doorway, glowering at a snowflake that'd fallen on her nose.

 

(Eggnog count: 6)

 

***

 

"Has anyone seen—" David spotted Mary-Margaret through the milling crowd of party-goers. "Oh, there you are! I thought you'd ditched me," he joked.

 

Nearby, Regina clapped her hands to her face. "Oh my goodness! Everyone, Snow White and Prince Charming _found each other!_ Oh, wow! It's so magical, you guys! I'm getting a little misty, does anyone have a Kleenex?"

 

Emma had a camera in one hand and a glass in the other. "Smile, everyone!" She snapped a picture before anyone could process what Regina had said.

 

(Eggnog count: 7)

 

***

 

"And here is Henry in drama club," Regina said, pointing to the picture in her Christmas album. "He didn't want to do it, but I just told him that children who are in drama club earn thirty percent more in their future careers, and that if he didn't do it I'd take away his X-Box."

 

Emma stared holes in a picture of Henry in Peter Pan tights.

 

(Eggnog count: 8)

 

***

 

It was past ten and people were starting to go home. Archie had brought a mix CD, but for some reason it played Jingle Bell Rock every other song.

 

Mary-Margaret found Regina stuffing shredded wrapping paper into a garbage bag. If a garbage bag could enjoy such a thing, this one wouldn't be.

 

"Hey there, Regina. We were about to leave, I just wanted to thank you for the scarf. It's really nice."

 

"Of course it is. I picked it out."

 

Mary-Margaret nodded, thinking Regina was still a witch, but at least now she got a scarf out of the deal. "Well, we're having a New Year's Eve Bash on, uhh, New Year's. You should come."

 

Regina dropped the piece of wrapping paper she was holding. She snatched it out of mid-air a moment later. "Are you expecting someone's going to use magic against you?"

  
"What? No, no, you won't have to cast any spells. We're just going to watch the movie New Year's Eve."

 

"Oh, so you just plan on wishing someone had cast an evil spell on you."

 

"You have something against romantic comedies?"

 

"Only the ones that aren't comedic or romantic. Do you need me to bring anything?"

 

Mary-Margaret couldn't quite contain her surprise, which gave everything away to Regina. "You're coming?"

 

"Well, it gets boring staying home alone, thinking up ways to torment you. That was a joke, by the way."

 

Mary-Margaret laughed politely. "'By the way', would you keep an eye on Emma? I think she's had a few too many to make it home on her own. We called her a cab, just see that she gets in it."

 

"Why don't you take her home with you?"

 

"Let's just say I have yet to give Charming his present." Mary-Margaret winked.

 

Regina's face turned to stone.

 

"Yeah," Mary-Margaret nodded, "after tonight, I'm definitely going to be on the naughty list. Snow White's getting her freak on." She turned to leave.

 

" _I-burnt-your-favorite-doll-when-you-were-a-little-girl_ ," Regina said quickly.

 

"What was that?"

 

"I didn't say anything."

 

Mary-Margaret left. Regina went to go find Emma, who was in the party room, working it on the dance floor. Regina wasn't sure what 'it' was, though, and had little desire to find out.

 

"Okay," Emma slurred while the stereo continued to pump out Jingle Bell Rock—not even a dance remix of it, "this one is really popular outside the Neighborhood of Make Believe. It's called twerking, and to do it, the first thing you do is pop your—"

 

"Sheriff Swan," Regina interrupted, "can I have a word?"

 

"Sure thing!" Emma sorta… reverse-moonwalked to Regina, which was impressive in a technical sort of way. "What up, _biyatch?"_

 

Regina almost forgot. She'd never been called a 'biyatch' before. She wasn't really sure what it was. "Not much. I just thought you might like to sit down. You've had a lot to drink."

 

"I already peed, if that's what you're worried about. Your bathroom is _ballin',_ yo."

 

"Yes. It is. Yo." Regina hoped to Christ she hadn't used the good towels. "Come on. Let's go somewhere more private?"

 

"Ooh!" Emma grinned. "You tryin' to give me a present?"

 

"Yes." Called 'not traumatizing your adolescent son.'

 

"I gotcha," Emma said as Regina led her up the stairs to the bedroom. "Don't want the whole town to know you're a big softie."

 

"With perceptiveness like that, it's no wonder you're a police officer."

 

Regina got the door for Emma, who let out a low whistle as she walked in. "I bet you take all the girls here."

 

"Please. If I were so inclined, I'd focus my attention on Ruby. _Her mother_ is a wolf."

 

Emma's face screwed up. "And thas better than Mary-margarine… Mary-more-organ… Mary-may-flannel…"

 

"Sit," Regina said, pulling the cushion off a cot she had by the window.

 

Emma humped down on it, her butt sinking into the soft mattress. "Whoooooa. Don't tell me. You make gross, sweaty guys sleep here after you 'get what you want' from 'em. Some loooovemaking."

 

Regina smiled. She knew she was about to freak Emma out. "Henry used to sleep there when he'd had nightmares."

 

"Oh. Eww! Ewwwww! I thought—oh god! Gross!"

 

Regina kept smiling. Simple pleasures. "I'll make you some coffee. Nip that hangover in the bud."

 

"I'm not drunk! I'm tipsy! There's a difference! If I were drunk, could I name all _twelve_ of the Dwarves in The Hobbit?"

 

Regina walked over to the dresser. "I'd be a little concerned if you could do that sober. Shush, this takes concentration."

 

"Wha? Are you—are you changing your panties?"

 

"I am making. Coffee."

 

"With wha—oh." On top of the dresser was an espresso machine. "Okay, that's cool. I like… hold on… soy latte, half milk—"

 

"I know what you like," Regina interrupted. "Doesn't the multi-purpose mount I got for your…" She couldn't bring herself to call it a car, "vehicle prove that?"

 

"I guess. How come you're so good at getting presents for people? I think even Grumpy liked that sweater you got him."

 

"I don't know. It comes from being queen, I suppose. You get used to reading people. Knowing what they're afraid of. And what they would appreciate. Then you just listen."

 

"So what am I afraid of?" Emma asked, leaning forward. This should be good.

 

"People leaving you." Regina finished with the coffee. She turned around, presenting the mug and letting the smell waft over to Emma for her approval. "Maybe that's why things between us get so… spirited. I'm the one person you're stuck with, come hell or high water."

 

"I'm not stuck with Mary-Margaret? Or David?"

 

Emma wasn't taking the coffee, so Regina took her hand and curved it around the mug, making sure she had a firm grip on it. "You've made do without them before. You could walk away."

 

"If you tell me I could walk away from Henry, I'm throwing this coffee in your face."

 

"No. You couldn't. But that's different."

 

"How?"

 

"He can't leave you. You're his mother." Regina forced a smile. "No wonder you're so single-minded when it comes to him."

 

"Because abandonment issues?"

 

"Drink your coffee," Regina told her. "It's getting cold."

 

Emma drank. Held her face still as she swallowed it in a drunken parody of solemnity.

 

"I know it's good. You don't have to tell me," Regina said.

 

"So, we, like… share Henry?" Apparently Emma would rather have _that_ conversation then compliment Regina's coffee.

 

"That's one way of putting it."

 

"It's like he… handcuffs us together. That jerk."

 

"Keep drinking. I think you're going to need a second cup."

 

"No, no, this makes perfect sense! It's like we're divorced, right, and he makes us all… Kramer Vs. Kramer." Emma stared off into the distance, sipping her coffee slowly, some vastly important thought occurring to her. "Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, Gloin, Oin, Dori, Nori, Ori."

 

"You said Dwalin twice."

 

"Fuck you." Emma pointed at Regina. "See, you're… you're like the _mommy._ You want Henry to be all safe and well-adjusted and have a job where he wears a tie. And I'm the _dad._ I want Henry to be cool and start calling himself Hank and get badass scars and go to work on a motorcycle! Do I have something on my face?"

 

Regina was looking at Emma very hard. "No. I was just thinking to myself that you're the mother of my child."

 

Emma laughed. "You know what your real problem is? It's just… you need to embrace your _momness_. Stop trying to be wonder-parent. Like this crotch… this _cot._ It's bullshit. Your kid has a nightmare and you make him sleep in a doggy bed? Why can't he sleep next to you?"

 

"Studies show that two percent of children who sleep with a parent end up with a thirteen percent…"

 

Emma waved her hand in the air. "Stop, stop! God! It's like talking to a Dr. Laura column. Jus'… be nice. You're making it up as you go along, I get that, it's cool, we all are. Henry's not IKEA furniture. He's not going to turn out perfect if you follow some manual."

 

Regina stared at Emma, who drank her coffee like a complete innocent. "Is that what you're doing with me? Making it up as you go along. 'Being nice.'"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Did you tell your mother to invite me over for New Year's?"

 

"I might've. Mentioned you would like to come. Clearly we can't keep posting nasty things about each other online."

 

"I never posted anything nasty about you online," Regina said.

 

"My point exactly! One of us has to be the mature one." Emma burped. It was the kind that made Regina want to check that her picture frames were straight afterward. "Hey, wanna hear something weird?"

 

"Why end the streak?"

 

"I heard my parents talking. Mary-Margaret and David. They're thinking of having another kid. Since they didn't get to see me grow up. They're trying all over again." Emma smiled, but it was particularly drunken, seeming to float an inch or two off her face. "Isn't that just sweet?"

 

"Sorry."

 

"No, you're not."

 

"I am. I know what it's like to have parents who aren't… don't… who want different things from you than what you give them."

 

"Yeah, sure."

 

Regina thought about sticking to her story about being good at gift-giving because she was such a nice queen. The hell with it. No one believed her anyway. "I got very good at knowing exactly what my mother wanted to hear… exactly what would make her happy. Oh, and your grandfather. The king. I had to give him what he wanted too. Being Queen… that was when all I cared about was what I wanted."

 

Emma got up. It was a cumbersome process. Her ass was embedded in the mattress and there was very little to grab on for support, and she was still holding the coffee cup, which sloshed espresso on the floor to Regina's endless winces—"Careful now," she said—before finally Emma made it out, bent over like she was touching her toes. She set the mug down on the floor like that was what she'd been going for all along, then straightened. Fixing Regina with a stare, she walked up to her, towering above the woman sitting on the bed.

 

"What do you want, Regina?" Emma asked.

 

Regina closed her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time someone had asked. At least, not in a 'what do you want to let my family go?' sort of way. "I'm not sure. I kept… _taking_ things, and nothing made me happy. Not even Henry. Of course, I suppose I never had him in the first place." Regina stood up, feeling a sudden need to eat something, drink something, busy her body with something, but Emma just stood there, right in front of her.

 

"You want what I want," Emma said.

 

_Not alone, together._ Regina demurred "It's as good a guess as any. Lucky for me I'm stuck with you."

 

"Yeah."

 

Emma kissed her then.

 

Regina flopped backward on the bed before coming to her senses and scrambling up to a sit, trying to stand up before she remembered Emma was still in the way. Getting to her feet would put her back in kissing range. "What was that? Was that _tongue_?"

 

"You owed me a kiss." Emma pointed upward. "Mistletoe."

 

"What are you—oh. I get it. Very funny." Regina tried standing again. Emma grabbed her by the collar, helping her up, but only to kiss her again.

 

_Does good kissing run in the family_? Regina wondered, thinking of her endless unspoken jealousy toward Snow and Charming before thinking to give Emma a shove. "Quit that!"

 

"What's wrong, baby?" Emma rocked back. "Is it the Santa costume? I can take it off."

 

"It's not the Santa thing!"

 

"Good, I was wearing it to the orphanage, the kids love it." Deciding that was settled, Emma grabbed Regina again and kissed her again.

 

The hell of it was, Emma seemed to be getting better at it. Regina pulled away, sputtering. " _Why are you kissing me?_ "

 

"Isn't it obvious?" Emma asked, starting to take off the costume despite Regina's non-objection to it. "You're mommy. I'm daddy. I think it's time we make a baby. It'll save our marriage."

 

Regina blinked very steadily. "The mistletoe… you didn't smoke it, by any chance?"

 

"I know, a baby at your age, it sounds crazy…"

 

"My _age_?"

 

"But trust me, they did on Gilmore Girls, she was way older than you." Emma gave herself a wiggle and she wasn't wearing a dress anymore. Just a bra and panties. Red and green. Some people had way too much Christmas spirit. "Do you want to rip these off me or should I show you my moves? I used to dance in college, and I don't mean the polka." Emma raised a confidential hand to her mouth. " _I took off my clothes for money._ "

 

"As fascinating…" Emma pushed Regina down onto the bed. The former mayor managed to land on her butt instead of her back, sitting there very primly, but then Emma backed onto her lap and started… undulating. From where Regina was sitting, it was a very interesting perspective. "As fascinating as that is, I think you should—" Emma whipped around, straddling Regina's lap now and shoving some key aspects of her anatomy in Regina's face. Given the fur lining on Emma's bra, it made Regina want to sneeze more than anything else. "I think you should put some clothes on—" Emma took her bra off. Regina didn't feel like sneezing anymore. "Or not. No, no, you should definitely—stop—being naked. Right this moment!"

 

"C'mon, Reggie. All that trouble to have a kid and you never thought of getting one the old-fashioned way?"

 

" _You don't even have a penis._ Wait, you don't, do you?" For one shining moment, the majority of Emma Swan's behavior made sense.

 

"I don't have a penis, 'Madame Mayor.' I can improvise." Reaching behind her back, she pulled out one of those big candy canes that looked like they could only be hung off a redwood tree. She brought the bottom to her lips, opened her mouth, and proceeded to dispel any rumor of having a gag reflex.

 

"I don't have a penis either, why is that turning me on?" Regina wondered out loud, vaguely stunned.

 

Emma slurped her way off the candy cane. Although Regina couldn't speak for the chrome on a trailer hitch, not much of the red stripe on the cane had survived. "Alright. Neither of us have penises. I've had worse starts to sleepovers."

 

Displaying some impressive multitasking for a woman who was slurring more than an Alabama senator, Emma started kissing Regina's neck and rubbing the wet end of the candy cane under Regina's skirt. Regina felt herself go cross-eyed. She wasn't usually 'so inclined', but Emma was landing herself squarely on the exception list, right next to Olivia Wilde.

 

"This is so wrong," Regina muttered vainly, as Emma vacuumed Regina's pulse the same way she'd done the candy cane. She was turned on and Emma hadn't even touched her breasts yet. She'd never had a lover wait so long to touch her breasts. "I mean, you… you're… you're drunk!"

 

"Tipsy," Emma corrected. "I named all the Dwarves."

 

"You said Dwalin twice!"

 

Emma started sucking on the other side of Regina's neck. Regina's eyes rolled back in her head. "And… uhh… I hate you? Or something?" Quite understandably, Regina was finding it hard to think at the moment.

 

"I've slept with people I've hated before. It was really hot."

 

"Was there spanking?" Regina asked helplessly.

 

"There was so much spanking…"

 

"Good god…" If Regina weren't having sex, she'd be running off to the shower to masturbate. "Wait, wait…" Regina pushed her back a little, which just let cool air hit the skin Emma had been so assiduously mouthing. It actually made Regina move toward the shower before remembering she didn't need to masturbate. Or she did, but it would send the wrong message if she did it with Emma in the vicinity. A sexy, sexy message.

 

While Regina was distracted, Emma's patience lasted its allotted five seconds and she went back to sucking. This time, on Regina's cleavage.

 

Regina finally realized why Emma had taken so long to touch her breasts. It was so Regina had time to prepare herself.

 

A few seconds of that, and one discarded bra, and she no longer needed to visit the shower. Emma lifted her head, pleased with herself. She was having sex and ruining some of Regina's panties, so this worked for her on multiple levels. "Sorry, what was that? Reggie?"

 

"First off, Reggie has the same amount of syllables as Regina, it's not a nickname, you're not saving any time by calling me that."

 

Emma went back to Regina's breasts. "Keep going," she said between them. "I'm listening."

 

Regina marshaled all her reasoning. "We simply can't do this. If we do, you'll hate me in the morning."

 

Emma leaned back as if considering Regina's words. Then, by demonstration, she showed Regina that the candy cane had two ends and one of them was perfect for Emma.

 

While Regina's jaw was still trying to close, Emma tried Regina's breasts again.

 

"Then again," Regina said, woozily falling back to the mattress, "you already hate me. And I am evil, after all."

 

"You're so evil, baby." Emma kissed her. "It's so hot."

 

She ran the other end of the candy cane up Regina's thigh.

 

***

 

"Sheriff Swan, if I'd known you could do _that_ when you first came to Storybrooke, I think we would've had a much more friendly relationship."

 

***

 

Emma woke up with her lips sticky and something very sweet on her tongue.

 

Had she been nursing a candy cane when she went to bed?

 

"And this, Sheriff Swan, is why I have an espresso machine in my bedroom." Regina, wearing a bathrobe that was loosely tied enough for Emma to remember _exactly_ what she'd been doing last night, presented Emma with a cup of coffee. "Merry Christmas, lover."

 

"Oh God." Emma thought about it. "Oh God!"

 

"That's funny, you said that so many times last night, one would think you had it out of your system."

 

Emma shot Regina a death-glare. "Bite me!"

 

"That too."

 

Jumping out of bed, Emma sought out her clothes in the world's fastest scavenger hunt. Then realized she was already wearing something.

 

"What's this?"

 

"Oh, during round three you asked if you could try on some of my clothes. That's my Halloween costume from four years back. I went as a cowgirl."

 

Looking at Regina, Emma's eyes were so wide her eyelids might've ceased to exist. "Did we--?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And we used the—"

 

"Oh yeah."

 

"And I—"

 

"Several times."

 

"Even—"

 

"Even there. I take it that's a no on the coffee?"

 

Emma shook her head numbly. Regina drank it herself. She and Emma had similar tastes. Also, they liked their coffee the same way.

 

"Relax," Regina said. "No one saw us together. And I'm certainly not going to tell anyone. Let's just consider it… an anonymous Christmas gift. No strings, no regrets. We just go on as if it never happened."

 

"Yeah. Okay." Emma started the lengthy process of changing from a cowgirl ("Sheriff Naughty," she recalled) to Mrs. Claus. It was harder than it looked. She had no idea how she'd managed it sloshed and in the dark.

 

Well, she'd had help, she supposed.

 

"Just so you know," Emma said, zipping her dress up for the walk of shame. "Having sex with a drunk girl is low, even for you."

 

"Drunk girl? Oh, right. The eggnog." Regina sipped her coffee. "Well, my recipe does call for spirits, but since I knew the party would have mixed company, I used nonalcoholic beer. Hard to taste the difference, isn't it?"

 

Emma's brow furrowed. "I, like… sixty-five percent hate you."

 

"I know. It came up during the spanking."


	2. New Year's Embarrassment

No one expected Regina to come to Mary-Margaret's New Year's Bash. The accepted wisdom was that, since Regina's Christmas party had been a success, she would be all set when it came to social interaction until at least Valentine's, and who didn't feel lonely then? But no, Regina walked right into Granny's Diner, ignoring the amount of everyday items being considered as weapons like a Jackie Chan movie was about to break out.

 

“I made snickerdoodles,” she announced, and unceremoniously dropped the Tupperware bowl into Mary-Margaret's lap before sliding in next to Emma in the Charming family booth.

 

“What are you doing here?” Emma demanded.

 

“We thought you weren't going to show,” Mary-Margaret added, trying to soften the blow.

 

“I'm fashionably late,” Regina replied. “And I would never think of turning down an invitation from the mother of my child. All last night, she went on and on about how she wanted me to come, how she wished I could come right now, how we should come together--”

 

Emma shotgunned her Long Island Iced Tea before remembering what that led to. “Well, who cares how you got here, so long as you're here!”

 

“Don't sell yourself short, Sheriff. You were a busy little beaver getting me here.”

 

So that was the way she wanted to play it. Well, two could play at that game, and Emma played dirty. Almost as dirty as Regina's sex acts (she wished she could use that one, but it was a little unsubtle). “It's no big deal,” she smiled, “you were easy.”

 

Regina smiled right back, almost proudly. “That's true. Regrettably, when you haven't partied for a while, standards tend to slip.”

 

“Hey!” Mary-Margaret chimed in, like a bell being rung really hard and somehow angrily. “I worked hard on this party!”

 

“Sorry, Mom.” Emma patted her on the shoulder before returning the evil eye to Regina. “Clearly, some people don't know how to show gratitude when they are very, very fortunate.“

 

“I'm very gracious when I get lucky. I made snickerdoodles, after all.” Regina got up, one of her cookies in hand. She took a scrumptious bite, moaning in oven-warm ecstasy.

 

“No one asked for your snickerdoodles!” Emma replied tersely.

 

Regina leaned back against the wall as if distancing herself from the offending baked goods. “You'd prefer my cupcakes?” she asked, reclining indolently.

 

“I don't want anything sugary from you!” Emma said, her vocal register climbing to 'testy'. Then she realized what she'd just said. Two seconds, impressive timing for a woman with foot-in-mouth disease, as more than one foster home had diagnosed her. “And no, don't you dare!”

 

Regina shrugged like the gesture was giving five thousand dollars to Mother Theresa. “Fine, you won't get any sugar from me. But can we fuck each other again?” she added, head tilted like she was genuinely curious.

 

The diner fell into silence. Even the countdown from Times Square seemed subdued, and Jimmy Fallon was doing the interview. With Nikki Minaj.

 

Finally, someone spoke. Naturally, it was Henry. “Mom, you said a bad word.”

 

“I'm sorry, Henry.” Regina smiled disarmingly at him before facing Emma again with a now sickly sweet grin. “I just thought lovemaking was too nice a word for a bout of hardcore scissoring without even a smidgen of foreplay.”

 

“I was drunk!” Emma protested, looking around like she was hoping for people to be brandishing signs like 'It wasn't Emma's fault!' and 'Club lesbianism isn't a crime.' “Really drunk! 'Tron Legacy is a good idea' drunk!”

 

“That's not an excuse for bypassing foreplay,” Regina told Henry, tapping her nose to indicate he should keep that excellent advice in mind.

 

Emma frowned until she could've transformed into a badger. “I could've been getting fingered by ET.”

 

Regina took a moment to look complimented, flattening her hand to her heart. Then: “It was nonalcoholic beer.”

 

Emma scoffed. “They're practically the same!”

 

Grumpy leapt up. “Take it back!”

 

Mary-Margaret ushered Grumpy back down to his seat and moved to the center of the room, gesturing for calm. “Everyone... Emma, I think it best that we focus on what's really important here. Do you have a drinking problem?”

 

Emma flipped like she had either seen a snake or just parsed Mary-Margaret's words. “ _What?”_

 

David stood up beside Mary-Margaret. “The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

 

Belle reached out to take Emma's hand, which Regina observed with amusement and a little jealousy. “When I was young, I abused pixie dust. It made me feel like I was flying.”

 

“That's what pixie dust does!” Emma said shrilly.

 

“Yes, it is.” Belle squeezed Emma's hand. “But with help, I got clean.”

 

Regina stepped up to pull Belle away from Emma, giving her a teensy finger-poke back to her chair. “Emma is not an alcoholic.”

 

“Thank you!” Emma cried.

 

“Anytime, babe.” Regina brushed a lock of hair out of Emma's eyes.

 

Emma pulled it back. “Stop that!”

 

“Don't push me away,” Regina said with puppy dog eyes. “ _Let me in.”_

 

Emma stumbled back from Regina, catching herself on the bar. All eyes were on her, so she bowed graciously. “Alright, everybody, yes, I had sex with Regina.”

 

“And I was spectacular,” Regina said with raised finger.

 

“But it was a one-time thing,” Emma stressed. She counted off on her fingers. “I was lonely, I thought I was drunk, and c'mon, look at her.” Regina flapped her jacket a little. “I hope we can all be mature and never speak of this again. I mean, why would you?”

 

“I'm pregnant,” Regina announced.

 

“Oh, fuck you!”

 

Henry: “Mom, you said--”

 

“Yes, I know I said a bad word. And you know what?” Emma grabbed Grumpy's drink and finished it off, shaking off the kick before continuing. “ _It was exactly the right fucking word to use!_ ” she shouted. “If I had used that word in Scrabble, I would get like a quintuple fucking word score. And if a girl ever says you knocked her up when you don't have a penis, I expect you to say 'Fuck that!'”

 

“Emma doesn't have a penis,” Regina reported. “I can vouch for that.” She sat down on a stool. “Can someone rub my tired, pregnant feet?”

 

Emma stepped forward, with Regina looking overjoyed she'd volunteered, until Emma pulled her to her feet and pointed her toward the door. “Regina, I think you'd better leave, taking your demon seed with you,” she hissed in her ear. “Find a sucker without a high school understanding of biology. I suggest a high school.”

 

“All I know is that I haven't so much as flirted with anyone since that night with David.” Regina winked at him. “And it's not like there are a lot of men in this town who'd have sex with the Evil Queen.”

 

Emma rubbed at her sinuses, trying to get at the migraine building there. “Everyone here who'd have sex with Regina, raise your hand.”

 

Regina tried to raise Emma's for her. She pulled away just in time to see Mary-Margaret raising her hand.

 

“Eww, Mom? Put your hand down!”

 

“I'm trying to be supportive.”

 

Emma looked around, seeing a lot of lowered hands. “Really? No one? I'm not even that gay--”

 

“Your mouth was last night,” Regina had slunk behind the bar and was mixing a drink from the adult beverages in the icebox. “Along with most of your fingers.”

 

“Don't test me, Regina!” Emma stabbed a finger at her. “I won't hit a pregnant woman, but I'll play Maroon 5 music while your baby is in the womb. He will get used to Maroon 5 music _as a fetus,_ and for the rest of your life, if you want your baby to go to sleep, you'll play Maroon 5!”

 

“Let's all calm down,” David urged.

 

“Go tea-bag yourself, Charming!” Emma yelled before her voice ran into a wall. “Sorry, Dad, I don't like being told what to do,” she finished tinily.

 

“Here, have a drink.” Regina set one in Emma's hand. Emma jerked her hand away, sloshing some into Sister Astrid's face. “That had some very good vodka in it.”

 

Mary-Margaret went to wipe off Astrid. “When exactly did this...”

 

“String of orgasms?” Regina volunteered.

 

“I was going to call it literally anything else, but okay. When did _that_ happen?”

 

“Christmas,” Emma said wearily. She started nursing what was left of Regina's drink.

 

“Christmas or Christmas Eve?”

 

“Both.”

 

“We started the night before and continued into Christmas morning.” Regina's eyes drifted off to the side, seemingly lost in her own lascivious recollections. “All our presents thoroughly unwrapped...”

 

Emma burped. “You sound like you're writing a letter to Penthouse.”

 

“I did, calling you Emma Essen. Switch it around.”

 

“I think I know what this is,” David said.

 

“Yes, like S&M,” Regina confirmed.

 

“A Christmas miracle,” Mary-Margaret said, following her husband's line of thinking.

 

“What, like the Virgin Mary?” Emma asked. “No. No way am I worshipping her.”

 

“Perhaps if I turned around and bent over?”

 

“Think!” David insisted. “Did either of you say you wanted to be pregnant?”

 

Emma crossed her arms and looked away. “I don't recall. My brain is full of facts on science... and books.”

 

Regina set about mixing her another drink with distinct glee. “She did. She said she wanted to put a baby in me.”

 

Emma slapped her hands down on the counter Regina had seemingly taken shelter behind. “You're taking that completely out of context!”

 

“You said you wanted to impregnate me and now I'm pregnant.” Regina slid the drink across the counter to her favorite sheriff. “Drink up, mi amour.”

 

“It's a saying I have,” Emma said snidely, as if she were letting Regina in on common knowledge. “Like my catchphrase. 'Hey, Ruby, good game, I'd put a baby in that.'”

 

David rubbed his chin. “Santa must've heard Emma's ill-advised catchphrase. He used the magic of Christmas to make Regina with child.”

 

“Oh, Santa's real now?” Emma drank.

 

“Who do you think gave you that boxset of Xena: Warrior Princess?”

 

“One of my many anonymous admirers?” Emma said through her glass.

 

Regina studied her fingernails. “I got the doll I never received as a child. I suppose my holiday wish not coming true all those years ago was my start down the path of darkness.”

 

Ruby rolled her eyes. “No one cares why you turned evil, Regina, this isn't about you!

 

“Quiet, Ruby! Bad dog! No barking!”

 

Ruby was rolling up her sleeves when Emma restrained her. “Pregnant woman. Just nine months. Then you can hit her and she'll have postpartum depression.”

 

“My hero!” Regina called, seeing Emma between her and harm.

 

Emma turned back around to face Regina, now thoroughly done with 2012. Good thing too. Not that anyone was listening to them, but the New York crowd had started the countdown. “Alright. So I knocked you up. That doesn't mean we're buddies or anything. What do you think this is, the movie Knocked Up?”

 

Holding her stomach, Regina circled the counter and went to Emma. “Well, I realize this is sudden, but since you are the father of this baby, I was hoping you'd do the honorable thing and marry me.”

 

If Emma had been told there was a poisonous arachnid in her hair, she could not have held as still as she did. The TV blared “Three, two, one!” and then there was all manner of confetti and balls and off-note singing. “Happy New Year!” Carson Daly said.

 

“Happy New Year,” Regina told Emma, and kissed her. And hugged her. “We are going to be so happy together. Emma? Emma?” Regina looked over at David. “I think she's fainted. Would you like to take her, Grandpa? A woman in my condition shouldn't be under the strain of all this jacket.”


	3. Valentine's Disaster

All in all, it looked like the usual Valentine's Day for Emma. Watch every Hugh Jackman movie ever made and hope her subconscious got the hint and gave her one whopper of a sex dream. She was really hoping she'd get to comfort Jean Valjean about that shit with the bread. Old Jean Valjean. The one with all the experience and paternal instincts. Rowr.

 

Instead, Emma came downstairs to discover her father was watching football on an HDTV that could've doubled for one of those screens the evil mastermind used to threaten his underlings on in a Bond movie. "Something seems different about the living room."

 

"Oh, uhh…" David rubbed at his nose. "Got a new TV!"

 

"Yeah. That's it. How'd you afford this? No one laid siege to Best Buy or anything, right?"

 

"No, nothing like that. We—" David focused on the TV as a pass was completed. "Emma, you've got to try this! It has four megapixels per square inch. Four!"

 

"Yeah. That's great, dad. Breakfast first." Emma went into the breakfast nook only to find that the old had been outed and the new was in. The refrigerator with the vegetable drawer that was a solid block of ice and a light that had turned red somehow, the oven that you had to set to 224 degrees for a minute before it would start, the microwave that would only stop microwaving if the door was open.

 

They were all gone, replaced by stuff Julia Child would use if she were a cyborg. Lots of chrome. Some glass. Buttons that you'd expect on the USS Enterprise.

 

"Isn't it wonderful!" Mary-Margaret enthused, pulling a breakfast casserole from the oven. She stayed bent over it, breathing in the scent of totally ozone-free roasted perfection for so long that Emma worried she'd pull a Sylvia Plath. "Look at the cheese! It's bubbling! I've wanted bubbling cheese for so long, Emma…"

 

"Should you really be this excited over kitchen appliances? Feels a little _Mad Men_."

 

Mary-Margaret dead-eyed her. "You spend twenty years skinning rabbits and drying clothes on a line. See where your priorities are. Oh, we've also got a new dryer. This one spins!"

 

"That's great, Ma. So what happened? Is Scrooge McDuck a fairy tale character too?" Emma broke off. "Damn, got my hopes up… Wait, you didn't sell your firstborn to Rumpel for riches or anything, right? Because that would be me. I'm your firstborn."

 

"We didn't promise you to anyone…" Mary-Margaret assured her. "…exactly."

 

Emma's spider-sense was tingling. It was looking less and less like she'd have to trade out her Hugh Jackman sheets in the morning. "Mom… how'd you get all this stuff?"

 

"I got the stereo working, Mr. Nolan!" Regina said heartily from the other room.

 

Bugging her eyes out, Emma jabbed a finger at Mary-Margaret and ran back to the living room. Regina was fiddling with a remote control. She was dressed informally, for her--jacket hung up on the hall tree, blouse not quite buttoned to the neck, and flats.

 

"Oh, hello Emma," she said as the room flooded with NFL commentary.

 

"9.1 surround sound!" David cheered. "It really only goes up to 7.1. _I'm not even sure what the last two speakers do!"_

"Regina, what are you doing here?" Emma demanded. "Is this another plot? Are these speakers full of spiders or something?" Then, just to be safe: "Can we all step away from the speakers, please?"

 

"Emma, please, relax. You'll upset my fetus." Regina rubbed her stomach, which was still flatter than Emma's. No complementary pies for her at Granny's. "These aren't any kind of trick. It's just an old custom from the Enchanted Forest. They're your dowry."

 

Emma darkened like the second movie in a trilogy. " _We're not getting married._ "

 

David saw his chance to find out what the last two speakers in a 9.1 speaker system did fading fast. "Emma, it's not like that. We discussed it with Regina and these are just her… show of good faith. No strings attached."

 

"The only way there're no strings attached with Regina is because she's decided to stab you instead of strangling you."

 

Regina smiled, liking the sound of that. "Well, now that you mention it, it would be nice if there were a show of good faith on your part as well."

 

"Yeah, thought so," Emma said. She grabbed Regina by the arm. "C'mon, preggers, time to go."

 

"You're not even going to hear what I have to say?"

 

"Emma," Mary-Margaret pleaded, "she is the mother of your child. Both of them. And the new freezer doesn't turn our ice cream solid anymore. And even if it did, we could heat it up in the microwave without having to get behind tin foil."

 

Emma sighed. "Alright. I'll listen to your bribe."

 

"Well, seeing as how Valentine's Day is coming up—"

 

"Here we go," Emma said.

 

"I would consider it fitting that you take me on a date."

 

"A date," Emma repeated.

 

"Yes," Regina nodded. "A night on the town. An evening of togetherness. I know it's been a while, but maybe there's an article about it on Wikihow."

 

"You want to go on a date?" Emma asked. "In town, not in your sex dungeon?"

 

"Sadly, I'm having the sex dungeon painted. So yes, we'll just have to eat out."

 

"And I don't have to wear some kind of weird latex outfit?"

 

"You can if you want to."

 

"And we're not going to some pagan sacrifice?"

 

"We can go to the local Wicca store if you want, but they mostly just listen to Rob Zombie."

 

"So I get to choose where we go?"

 

"Yes, Emma, this is your big chance to seduce me. Or you could always sit on the washing machine. It's very powerful."

 

"Should we go?" David asked, not liking the turn this conversation had taken. "Because this is the room with the home entertainment system."

 

"I could show you the kitchen," Mary-Margaret offered. "The microwave has a whole category for reheating frozen lasagna. You can choose between Italian and Mexican!"

 

"Alright, fine!" Emma swore. "If you let my parents keep their stuff, I'll go on a date with you. But don't expect anything. I'll be calling Mr. Gold and seeing if he has a chastity belt I can borrow."

 

"I actually have a spell that makes those vibrate." Regina smiled, lost in memories. "See you Thursday."

 

***

 

"You're wearing that?"

 

Emma rolled her eyes. As she might've expected, Mary-Margaret had insisted on helping her get ready. Since it was a date with Regina, Emma's version of getting ready had been showering. That was it.

 

"What's wrong with it?"

 

"Well, one, those jeans have a hole in them. Second, you wear that jacket every day. Third, your top is a black T-shirt that has 'Slut' written on it in white letters."

 

"It's hip."

 

"Emma…" Mary-Margaret sat on Emma's bed, watching as she gathered her hair into a simple ponytail. "I know Regina's tried to kill me a lot, but honestly, that was twenty-eight years ago. For almost three decades, the worst thing she did to me was keep me single. That wasn't so bad after Kate & Leopold came out on DVD. And she only tried to kill you once. Once! For Regina, that's like shaking your hand."

 

"I can't believe you want me to give her a chance. She called herself the Evil Queen. Unless you're hanging out with RuPaul, that's a warning sign!"

 

"Honey, the first time I met your father, he was engaged to someone else and I was trying to mug him. Then I shot him with an arrow. I'm just saying—it's hard to tell where things will end up."

 

"I have a pretty good idea where they'll end up." Emma put in her stud earrings. "In fact, after tonight, I don't think we'll be hearing from Regina for a long time."

 

***

 

Regina answered her front door, giving her bra one last adjustment for good luck. Ever since her promise to Henry, she hadn't been able to rely on magic to prevent nip-slips. That wasn't a problem, given that she had more pant suits than Janelle Monae. But now she needed to dress to impress, so she'd gone back to her old tailor, who now used his knowledge to teach quantum physics at the local college. He'd made her the kind of dress you were likely to see either at the Oscars or in a burlesque show before the music started. Her girls were ready to play once more.

 

"Good evening, Ms. Swan."

 

Emma stood in the doorway, hands in her backpockets. She nodded at Regina. "Sup?"

 

"Oh… my…" Regina looked her over. Emma was wearing the boots. Moving upward, things got progressively more masculine. Was that a studded belt? "I had no idea you were so… butch."

 

"There's a lot you don't know about me, toots." Emma popped the gum she was chewing. "C'mon, babe, I don't got all night."

 

"Of course! Coming right along!" Regina grabbed her clutch purse and hurried out the door. Emma was already walking away, going to her Bug where it was parked on the curb. Regina strutted to the passenger door, where she waited expectantly.

 

Emma was already getting into the driver's seat. "It's unlocked, babe."

 

"Oh, you don't want to open it for me. That's fine." Regina got the door herself. So many beer cans and six-pack rings spilled out that if they'd be parked over the ocean, Japan would be the number _two_ killer of dolphins in the world.

 

"Clear a space for yourself," Emma told her, kicking at some of the crumpled-up fast food wrappers in the foot space. "But try not to throw any of the receipts out, I've got a coupon for free gas there somewhere."

 

Regina used her purse as a brush, getting the seat as clean as possible before deciding she'd simply sit on the edge of her seat for the ride. Then she climbed in.

 

"Hope you don't mind going fast," Emma told her. "Now that I'm the one writing the tickets, I don't have to worry about getting pulled over anymore. And sister, lemme tell you, that's a load off my cranium."

 

"Have you been watching Grease? _Have you been watching Grease 2_?"

 

***

 

"First off," Emma said, making a hairpin turn. "A nice, romantic dinner."

 

"At the moment, I'm just glad I haven't eaten _yet_." Regina braced herself as Emma skidded them into a parallel park, on the curb of The Greasy Spoon. "I don't believe I've heard of this establishment," she said, wobbling as she got out.

 

"It's new. I'll post a review on Yelp later." Emma gave Regina a push through the door.

 

The diner was a little more… edgy than Granny's. The floors were linoleum, the windows had security wire, and the counter had bars protecting it. It reminded Emma of her high school cafeteria.

 

"What'll it be?" Fatty the Dwarf asked through the bars, a tablecloth-sized apron covering his eponymous girth.

 

"Mr. Fat?" Regina scrutinized him. "Since when do you run a diner?"

 

"What, Grumpy's the only one who gets to have dreams? I've long wanted to share dwarf cuisine with the public. What'll it be? Stew? Steak? You don't want anything with vegetables, do you?"

 

"Quarter-pounder with cheese, large order of fries, and a root beer float," Emma ordered. "What'd ya want, Regina?"

 

Regina was staring at the menu, posted above the bar, next to the fly strips. "The… meatloaf?"

 

"We're all out of quarter-pounders, Emma," Fatty reported. "Half-pounder okay?"

 

"Eh, I deserve a splurge."

 

"Excuse me," Regina began. "How many carbs are in the meatloaf?"

 

"What's a carb?"

 

***

 

"I actually had no idea you could make food out of mostly grease and starch," Regina said, leaving the diner.

 

"You should try his hot dogs. He said he'll give a hundred dollars to anyone who can guess what's in them." Emma licked her fingers.

 

"Where are we walking?" Regina demanded, short on patience. She could feel her stomach rebelling in protest, assuring her that none of this would happen if she went vegan. "Are we just trying to walk off the cholesterol, because I think we'll hit ocean before that happens."

 

"We're going to the park, for a romantic horse-drawn carriage ride."

 

"Ah. Well, Miss Swan, that's much better."

 

"Isn't it though?"

 

They reached the park without killing each other and finally came to the stables, where a horse had already been saddled. The horseman appeared to be missing, though.

 

"Oh, there's no horseman," Emma explained, climbing into the cab. "Chester's a magic horse."

 

"Chester?" Regina paused, giving Emma a chance to offer her a hand up. She didn't. "Why is that familiar?"

 

"Because you cursed me, witch! You turned me into a human!" Regina blinked at the horse, who pawed the ground with his hooves. "C'mon, get in. Your money's as good as the next witch's."

 

Regina climbed in. Emma smiled and closed the door behind her. Without giving Regina time to settle in, Chester took off, dropping Regina in Emma's lap.

 

Regina's eyebrows raised. "Well. This is just as cozy as I remember it."

 

"I can definitely tell you're pregnant. _Off!_ "

 

Regina moved over, hearing a whinny from Chester. "Hey, you know the worst thing about being human? No one feeds you sugar cubes. No one!"

 

"I'm sorry about that," Regina said. "I did have a lot of rage issues at the time… I was big into irony, so maybe you said you hated humans or something?"

 

"I liked humans! I loved being ridden!"

 

Regina patted Emma's knee. "See? We have something in common right there."

 

"I hated being human! You have to wear clothes! And if you don't—let me tell you, 'hung like a horse' was not the simile it should've been!"

 

***

 

A hour of rustic charm later, Chester had finished all his complaints about being turned into a human.

 

"Thanks for listening to me vent," he said as Regina petted his mane. "Now that I've forgiven you, maybe I can forgive… myself."

 

"That's the spirit," Regina said. "One day at a time."

 

"Can we go now?" Emma begged. "This is like watching a show on Bravo where everyone gets along. It just feels wrong."

 

"Certainly." Regina took Emma's arm, making Emma consider amputation. "Where to next, Valentine? Would you like to paint me in the nude? I promise not to hold it against you if you don't capture my radiance."

 

"Sorry, my mom raised me never to paint nudes on a first date. Or she would've, if she had raised me."

 

"I said I was sorry about that."

 

"No, you didn't."

 

"It could be inferred I was sorry about that." Regina patted Emma's arm. "You shouldn't dwell on the past. It's not healthy."

 

"And when was the last time Maine had a monarchy, your highness?"

 

"Are you going to row me around in a gondola or not?"

 

Emma raised her eyebrows. "No. No, that's not even an option. We're going to see a movie."

 

"Ooh, a nice romantic movie. Cliché, but serviceable. Rather like your oral sex."

 

"It's a horror movie," Emma corrected her. "Rather like your—no, I'm not doing it."

 

"You already did it. Or have we forgotten where babies come from?"

 

***

 

Having to wait in line for tickets behind and in front of a bunch of happily-ever-after couples with Regina hanging off her was the most mortifying V-day experience Emma had ever had since, well, being in high school. The worst part was how many people seemed to _approve._

"Well-done, Emma," Ashley said, smiling back at Regina. "Finally making an honest woman out of the queen, eh?"

 

"Pretty sure I'd need the cast of Inception for that."

 

"Oh, dearie," Regina giggled, "you're so funny."

 

"Why must you torture me?" Emma whispered.

 

"Because you're cute when you're angry _and_ the hate sex is amazing."

 

"Couldn't you just find someone else who hates you? The phone book would be a good place to start."

 

"Emma, be nice. You wouldn't want to hurt my feelings when I'm carrying our child, would you? We're up next." Regina gave Emma a little shove to the sales window.

 

"Stupid womb," Emma muttered. The ticket guy was looking at her funny. "Two for Frowny Face."

 

***

 

"Oh my god!" Emma yelled, covering her eyes.

 

"Problem, sweetie?" Regina asked, munching her popcorn.

 

"He just shoved a machete up her—Jesus! When did horror movies get so violent? I remember the 90s, the most that happened there was you got stabbed in the stomach and some blood came out your mouth. This never happened to Sarah Michelle Gellar! _"_

"I don't see what the big deal is. This film is completely unrealistic. There's not even that much blood in the human body." Regina blinked as another co-ed got the ax. "See? That's not even where her intestines would be in real life."

 

Emma lowered her head between her knees.

 

"If you're not going to watch the movie, mind getting me a refill?" Regina shook the popcorn tub. "It's just bad economics to pay seven bucks for one of these and then not get the refill."

 

***

 

Driving Regina home, Emma kept a deathgrip on the steering wheel. Regina ate what was left of the popcorn.

 

"You want to talk about something couple-y?" she asked.

 

"No," Emma said curtly.

 

"I'm not exactly big on relationships—what do couples usually talk about on dates?"

 

"How about you seeming weirdly familiar with how a woman getting chopped in half 'really looks'?"

 

Regina set the popcorn aside, not that there was much space to. "Well, have you seen Game of Thrones?"

 

"Do I look like I have HBO?"

 

"Have you read the books?"

 

"No, they're holding my coffee table up."

 

"Have you been to the TV Tropes page?"

 

"I've been to every TV Tropes page," Emma reported, remembering the only lost weekend in her life that didn't involve Maker's Mark.

 

"Well, the Enchanted Forest was a little like that. I know you think I was the bad guy and Snow White was the good guy, but there were also a lot of worse guys who would've loved to have the whole lot of us as heads on pikes."

 

"Don't remind me," Emma groaned, remembering what had happened to that nice girl from the CW show in the movie.

 

"But I'm sure you would've loved to have been raised in a realm where 'the pointy end of a sword' qualifies as a legal defense, so, boo me."

 

"Well, on the bright side, no lawyers."

 

"You'll notice I didn't put any of those in Storybrooke."

 

"We're here," Emma announced, pulling to a stop at the curb.

 

Regina got out before Emma had the chance to not get the door for her. "Walk me up?"

 

"Yeah, yeah—" Emma walked around the car and only stumbled a little when Regina lunged to put an arm around her waist. "You're surprisingly touchy-feely for an evil queen."

 

"And you're very stand-offish for a princess." They reached the porch. Regina plucked at Emma's belt. "Henry's over at Mary-Margaret's, in case you want to come inside for some… hot coffee."

 

"I think I've come inside enough where you're concerned. Good night, Regina."

 

Emma turned to leave. Then, halfway down the walk, she seemed to jump five feet in the air.

 

"Jesus!"

 

Regina opened her door back up. "Something the matter?"

 

"That bush just moved!"

 

"What?"

 

"Right there!" Emma pointed.

 

"It's probably just a cat. Or Ruby."

 

"It did it again!" Emma yelped, backing up as the bush definitely shook.

 

"I told you, it must be Ruby. I'll prove it to you." Regina stepped up onto the perch. "You know who really undercooks steak? Granny's diner!"

 

Now the bush was motionless.

 

Emma seethed. "The potentially dangerous beast on your front lawn is not Ruby. Thanks for letting me know that, I feel a lot better."

 

Regina shrugged. "Maybe she just takes constructive criticism well."

 

The bush gave another shake, branches crackling, and Emma jumped onto the porch. "Inside! Inside!"

 

She slammed the door behind them and threw all the locks.

 

"Emma, does this have anything to do with the fact that most of the girls who died in that movie were blondes?"

 

"It has to do with the fact that that was a huge bush! You could hide Mohammed Ali in there!"

 

"Not that I don't love hearing about your huge bush, but let's just call animal control. They finally caught Puss-In-Boots last week; they know what they're doing."

 

"No!" Emma said emphatically, staring out the peephole. "What if it's just a possum or something? Would either of us ever live that down?"

 

"'Scared of a possum' would be a step-up for me. People might relate to that better than wanting to kill your mother."

 

"Do you have a gun in the house? I left mine at home."

 

"You went on a date with me and you didn't bring protection? I'm insulted."

 

" _Regina._ Do. You have. A gun?"

 

"Yes, _Emma,_ I've had one ever since I adopted an infant. I keep it next to the medicine that looks like candy and the DVDs of old racist cartoons." Regina frowned, planting her hands on her hips. "Speaking of guns, I do hope you have some sort of safe to keep those things in back at Mary-Margaret's."

 

"What?"

 

"I've seen David strutting around with a holster. That's two guns in your home. _Henry could shoot himself twice at the same time._ "

 

"Is this really the best time?"

 

"I wasn't sure there was a bad time to discuss our son's safety."

 

"This is it! This is that time!" Emma stopped, pinching her lips. She looked back at Regina. "Did you just call Henry our son?"

 

"What of it?" Regina asked, tightening her hands on her hips.

 

"Nothing. It's just… usually there's a back and forth. You know, 'he's my son', 'no he's my son'."

 

Regina waved dismissively. "Henry is our son."

 

"And what brought _that_ on? You're not… you're not serious with this whole marriage, living happily ever after… thing… are you?"

 

"I did buy your father a television."

 

"Yeah, but… I mean… we have nothing in common."

 

"The sex was good."

 

"You compared cunnilingus with me to a rom-com."

 

"There's room for improvement there, true, but what you did with your fingers—and that elbow, oh my god…"

 

Flustered, Emma looked back out at the peephole. "I think it's gone."

 

"The thing you didn't see in the first place? For all you know, it could be right under the peephole."

 

Emma jumped back from the door. "You bitch!"

 

"Well, it can't get in here. One good thing about having an angry mob try to lynch you is that it stresses the need for a high-quality home security system. Bars on the windows, alarms, reinforced doors—"

 

"Okay, so, we're safe." Emma backed away from the door a little more, gathering herself. "We could just… wait it out till morning. Your average creature of the night isn't big on sunshine, right? I mean, _by definition…_ "

 

"Well, I'm a bit 'creature of the night' and no, I'm not much of a morning person."

 

"Good, cool…" Emma slid her hands in her pockets and looked at Regina. "Mind if I spend the night?"

 

"Why, Ms. Swan, I thought you'd never ask."

 

"In a guest room. Pervert. And only because there's a strong possibility of a giant scorpion being on the other side of that door."

 

"Where'd you get giant scorpion from?"

 

"When did we rule it out?" Emma started to take off her jacket, but paused when she noticed Regina staring at her. "And hey! No funny business. I just need to crash here, that's all. Nothing… _interesting_ is happening."

 

Regina looked at her in shock. "Why, Emma, I wouldn't dream of it. You have my word, as long as you're sleeping under my roof, I'll be a perfect gentlewoman."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: Afternoon Delight.


	4. Susan B. Awfulness Day

 

Emma would never admit this out loud. Not to her closest friends, not a million years, maybe not even on pain of death. But Regina had absolutely the most comfortable bed in Storybrooke.

 

Emma had always been a heavy sleeper. She could sleep on the floor, she could use a rock as a pillow, whatever. Her own bed was vigorously unkempt; it’d gotten so bad that she’d stripped it down to the mattress pad and was sleeping with her sheet wrapped around herself. And her pillow was lumpy. All of which she could put up with. But Regina’s bed—even the one in her guest room—it was like getting a massage from Hugh Jackman while Morgan Freeman read you a bedtime story. The sheets were so—and the pillow was such a—and the comforter, _God,_ the comforter. Emma woke up relaxed, refreshed, and completely forgetful of the potential giant scorpion that had compelled her to sleep over at Regina’s to begin with.

 

She tried to summon up some ruefulness over what had happened, even though Regina had been a perfect gentle… woman—Emma’s intent had been to utterly freeze her out, and instead there’d been a slumber party. The ruefulness wouldn’t come. She’d had a good night’s sleep and, knowing Regina, now she had a good cup of coffee and a good breakfast to look forward to.

 

She dressed in her old clothes—jeans, jacket, Slut t-shirt—and zipped her jacket shut for once. The great thing about wearing the same jacket every day was that no one could tell you were doing a walk of shame slash stride of pride (Emma wasn’t sure what category sleeping with Regina, in even the loosest sense of the term, would qualify as). Then she went downstairs, thinking of nothing but the smell of waffles wafting gently out of the kitchen.

 

Then, she thought only of the fact that just about every woman in Storybrooke was seated in the living room like Regina was showing them Tupperware.

 

Queeny herself looked up from pouring Granny a cup of coffee. “Oh, hello Emma! Did you sleep well?”

 

“I might still be,” Emma replied. “What the hell is this?”

 

“Susan B. Anthony Day,” Regina fired back with a smile. “Just a little group breakfast for us girls to celebrate and sustain the gender equality of our new home. Fortuitous it comes after Valentine’s Day. It’s good for us ladies to remember, after such an emphasis on romance and relationships, that we don’t need men. Some of us especially.” And she winked at Emma.

 

Emma got a very bad feeling. Bad like ‘this entire meal is vegetarian’ or ‘from the producers of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen’.

 

Still smiling to herself, Regina filled an empty mug and brought it to Emma. “Here you are, m’lady. You take it black, right?”

 

“Yeah, same way I take my dick.”

 

Regina laughed good-naturedly. “You’ll forgive Emma. She had a long night—well, we both did—and it looks like one of us woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

 

“There were multiple beds!” Emma assured everyone. She hissed to Regina, “I know what you’re doing.”

 

“Do you, Emma? Do you really know why we’re here, or do you just think you do?” She pivoted to the tastefully widescreen TV, which was showing a Powerpoint presentation. Picking up the remote, she went to the next slide. It was one of those slides with a lot of statistics. “Because it’s important to remember, you can’t spell Sisterhood without Solidarity. That means intersectionality. Feminism counts for nothing if we don’t support our sisters, be they African-American, Asian, or werewolf.”

 

Ruby nodded thankfully.

 

“And that goes double for those whose sexual proclivities are… a little outside the mainstream.” Regina looked away from Emma.

 

“Listen, you—“ Emma paused to sip her coffee. It really was quite good. She sniffed it, sure she detected a hint of hazelnut. Not overpowering, but just the right amount. “No, _everyone_ listen. I know what you’re all thinking, and I—“

 

“Don’t speak for me, Eva Braun,” Tiana shouted. “If we’re all thinking the same thing, then I’ll come out and say it. Susan B. Anthony was a racist and we should rename this holiday to something more minority-positive. Maybe honoring someone from our real home instead of a dead white alien.”

 

“How about Snow White Day!” Ruby suggested. Mary-Margaret patted her on the knee.

 

Tiana rolled her neck. “Oh, yeah, that’s a great name to be more inclusive of brown people. ‘Snow White Day’. Do we get to march in the Snow White Parade or do we have to go to the back?”

 

Regina stood up straighter at an opportunity for some light revenge with her morning meal. “I share Tiana’s concerns about the racist connotations of Mary-Margaret.”

 

“I’m not a racist!” Mary-Margaret yelped. “I have a lot of black friends! Ruby even turns into a _black_ wolf!”

 

Regina looked at Mary-Margaret condescendingly and slipped the knife between her ribs (more literally, she sipped her tea). “As a mixed-race woman, I find that offensive.”

 

Emma reeled in surprise. “Mixed-race? What, like your mom had sex with a dragon?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “Poor dragon…”

 

“My father was Hispanic,” Regina said icily, sitting down heavily in her seat.

 

“Oh. Weird.”

 

“I speak fluent Spanish. What did you think I was saying to you in bed?”

 

“I know that it was Spanish!” Emma protested. “I thought it was just telenovela stuff. I thought that was your thing. I speak Russian in bed ever since I saw Pacific Rim, because **strong woman warrior need love and sex, da.** ”

 

“Yes, but that’s because you’re a Communist.”

 

“ _Supporting universal healthcare does not make you a Communist, Muff Romney!”_

Tiana scoffed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure someone with real respect for the workers of the world would be more concerned with supporting the black race.”

 

“I was a bail bondswoman, okay, I did plenty to support the—“ Emma stopped and made a show of drawing a finger over her lips. “Uh-uh. I’m aborting that sentence. You can’t hold it against me because I did not say it in full. Nope, nope, nope.”

 

“Let’s not hold it against her,” Regina agreed magnanimously.

 

“ _Thank you._ ”

 

“Emma’s tongue tends to get away from her,” Regina continued. “Like last night.”

 

“Maybe we should table this discussion for now,” Tiana muttered. “Move on to what to do about Gaston’s obvious street harassment…”

 

“No, no!” Emma interrupted. “I want everyone here to know the truth! Yes, I did spend the night here at Regina’s, but nothing happened! We slept in separate beds, it was entirely innocent! Tell them, Regina!”

 

Regina sat up a little. “Emma’s telling the truth. We did not have sex last night.”

 

“ _Thanks._ ”

 

“Not even a little bit. We didn’t touch or kiss or spoon… nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. We just slept. In separate beds. In separate rooms, even. On opposite sides of the house.”

 

Ruby whispered something to Granny, who nodded gravely.

 

“Yes,” Emma said dubiously. “That’s right. All true. Now, about Gaston…”

 

“We most especially didn’t rip the clothes off each others’ yearning bodies and explore our mutual passion with blazing lips. Emma did not run her hands over my quivering body, my dewy femininity thrilling to her subtle touch. I certainly didn’t taste the glorious nectar of her loins, draining the cup of her sex dry and then making it runneth over again and again and again. And by no means did she put anything in my butt.”

 

Dead silence. Then Emma screamed “YOU SEE WHAT SHE’S DOING!? YOU SEE! YOU SEE!”

 

More dead silence. Then Regina said “Emma, I had no idea you were such a screamer. Since we didn’t have sex last night.”

 

Emma pointed a loaded finger at her. “I am going to eat _all_ of your waffles. Just watch me.”

 

She stalked toward the kitchen.

 

“You’ll have room,” Regina shouted after her, “since you certainly didn’t eat my pussy!”

 

Emma poked her head out of the kitchen. “B-T-Dubs, YOU CAN ABSOLUTELY SPELL SISTERHOOD WITHOUT SOLIDARITY! THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE! THEY’RE SYNONYMS!”

 

Regina fumed at her through the wall as loud sounds of waffle consumption began to billow from the kitchen. “She has a good point. Could someone please add to the agenda that we need to come up with a new catchphrase?”

 

Belle dutifully wrote it down.

 

“Now then.” Regina straightened her skirt with a brisk tug. “I think it’s time we discuss the inordinately high rate of incarceration among the mixed-race population of Storybrooke.”

 

“That’s you!” Mary-Margaret spoke up. “It’s because we keep locking you up when you try to kill everyone!”

 

Regina folded her arms. “Victim-blaming, Miss Blanchard? Really?” She shook her head disdainfully. “ _White women._ ”


	5. Date Night

Whatever her flaws, Regina didn’t gloat. When she said she wanted to discuss her pregnancy, she agreed to meet at Granny’s for lunch—an arrangement that suited Emma fine. Nice and safe. Regina wore one of her outfits that made her only look like a demi-god deigning to eat with mere mortals, while Emma found a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee to go with her red jacket. The two of them sat across from each other in a booth and actually discussed Lamaze classes, doctors, and baby names. It was nice.

 

Then Ruby closed the blinds.

 

Emma looked up instantly from the plate of fries Regina _hadn’t_ given her hell over. Her spider-sense was tingling. “What’s up?

 

“Nothing, nothing. Just felt like a change. We have gone, like, twenty-eight years without pulling the blinds down…” Ruby hustled off.

 

Emma watched her go, suspicious until Regina pulled her attention back. “Now then, what _would_ you name the baby, if you had any choice in the world? If I died giving birth, say, and you were the only parent.”

 

“Mmmm…” Emma chewed a fry. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

 

“Let’s say a girl.”

 

“Gee, that’s a tough one. I don’t know. Do they give you a while to decide or does it have to be right away?”

 

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you could name it after me. Seeing as I just died and all.”

 

Emma’s head reared back. “I feel like that was a trap.”

 

“No, it’s alright, by all means, name her after your favorite Game of Thrones character while I’m being buried in the cold hard Earth…”

 

“Hey, since you named Henry after your dad, maybe I should name your kid after one of my parents. Little baby Mary-Margaret. How’s that sound?”

 

Regina choked a little. “Let’s discuss it being a boy. I am open to naming him after someone from your life. August, Neal, Jefferson—you do get around.”

 

“Let’s not name a baby after one of my ex-boyfriends, okay, that’s weird. V.C. Andrews weird.”

 

Ruby returned, setting a lit candle on the darkened table. Once more she bustled off.

 

Emma poked the candle. “I can never tell the difference between these scented candles. They all smell like tree. That tree smell.”

 

“Rustic Roman, I think,” Regina said after a sniff.

 

Ruby returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Wine?”

 

Regina gratefully took a glass. “Why, thank you, dear.”

 

Emma’s brow was furrowed. “Since when do you serve wine?”

 

“Oh, I had Granny run out to get some. Told her if she didn’t, I’d tell people about her shrine to Tommy Lee Jones.” Ruby blinked for a moment. “Enjoy!”

 

“Ruby, wait, why are you serving us wine? And dimming the light and putting out candles?”

 

Ruby’s customer-service smile was frozen solid. “No reason! I do it for many, many non-platonic couples!” She leaned over to Regina and whispered. “Take off your shoe and rub her foot.”

 

“Ruby!” Regina slapped the table. “I certainly will not!”

 

“We’re not a couple,” Emma insisted. “We haven’t had sex—except for that one time—and that doesn’t make you a couple, does it?”

 

“Well, Belle and I aren’t a couple, so I guess not…”

 

“It’s free wine, Emma,” Regina pointed out.

 

Emma sipped hers. She had to admit, Regina had a point. Still… “I don’t want people to think you wore me down into dating you, like I’m some Tamagotchi and you just kept feeding me and cleaning my poop until I…” She turned to Ruby. “What is it Tamagotchis do, anyway?”

 

“Nothing, I don’t think.”

 

“Really? Nothing? Christ, the 90s were dumb. Tickle Me fucking Elmo, too…” Emma shook her head. “Anyway, I want to actually have some say in who my own damn genitals touch. Otherwise, I might as well just ho myself out to the first guy that gives me a boat.”

 

“Do you want a boat?” Regina asked.

 

“No!”

 

“Cleaning her poop?” Ruby repeated absently.

 

“Scram,” Emma told her, and Ruby diligently scrammed, returning only to set the jukebox to its most romantic Tom Jones song.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Emma,” Regina said. “I’ve been on my best behavior. You have sex with me while blitzed on non-alcoholic eggnog, which was no one’s fault but yours and my dildo’s. Then I made courtship arrangements with your parents, which is the custom in our homeland. Then _you_ invited me on a date, only to treat me abominably in an attempt to drive me off, so your intentions are quite clear. I fully intend to move on, _Ms. Swan._ ”

 

“Yeah, right.” Emma rolled her eyes. “You’ve been playing this whole… _game_ just to mess with me. You don’t _really_ want to date me, you just know pretending to like me will annoy me way more than being a bitch. You’re Bugs Bunny and I’m Elmer Fudd. No, you’re Pepe Le Pew… wait, am I Pepe Le Pew? You might be Donald Duck.”

 

“Daffy Duck,” Regina corrected. “Donald Duck was Disney.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“About everything. And have you stopped to consider that you’re a strong-willed, resilient young woman of great beauty and impressive mystical power?” Regina leaned forward. “And we already share a son. Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”

 

“Okay, don’t do that.”

 

“Don’t do what?”

 

“Don’t _charm_ me. I don’t want to be charmed!”

 

Regina shook her head. “I don’t understand modern dating. Do you want to use that phone app? Is that how people do it now?”

 

“I do,” Ruby said, returning to bring them a milkshake with two straws.

 

“Ruby, I said—“ Emma began. “No, this is fine. Chocolate, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Yes, fine.” Emma slurped on the straw.

 

“You’re not going to share that, are you?” Regina asked.

 

Emma slurped more aggressively. “Alright, if you honestly want a relationship, I want to be won over.”  


“You just said—“

 

“There’s won over and then there’s worn down. Worn down is leaving a million messages on my answering machines until I agree to date you.”

 

“Answering machine? What is this, the Middle Ages?” Regina shook her head. “No, it isn’t, I’m from the Middle Ages.”

 

Emma groaned. “I want you to find a golden fleece or slay a dragon or something to be with me. That’s fair, right?”

 

“You’ve killed the only dragon in town, dear. And she was a rather good friend of mine, besides.” Regina looked away thoughtfully. “There is Pete’s dragon…”

 

“Don’t kill Pete’s dragon, that poor kid’s been through enough.”

 

“So I’m simply expected to wait around, being pregnant and single, until some crazy adventure comes along and gives me a chance to prove my undying semi-approval of you? What if I get horny?”

 

“What, queen of sex can’t get herself off?”

 

“I was always the queen. You were the one who added ‘of sex’ to my name.”

 

“I don’t even remember doing that! I was blitzed on non-alcoholic eggnog!”

 

“That really isn’t how non-alcoholic eggnog works. Are you sure you’re not allergic to either egg or nog?”

 

“You’re the one who keeps saying our night together was like a porno version of The Exorcist. How do I know you didn’t just… _lesbian_ for a few seconds before rolling over and going to sleep? And don’t do some ‘only a woman knows what a woman wants’ ‘lesbians are awesome’ kick. I find it sexist. If some guy said that only a man can satisfy a woman—“

 

“Is that milkshake giving you a sugar rush?” Regina asked.

 

Emma paused. “I had some M&Ms before I got here.”

 

Regina nodded to herself.

 

“ _If I had put them in my pocket, they would’ve melted.”_ Emma took an angry suck on her milkshake. “You know what? I’m calling your bluff. I’ll spend the night at your place, and if you actually manage to get me off like you claim you can, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to kill Pete’s dragon?” Regina stole one of Emma’s fries and munched it mockingly. “At least that’d be a bit of a challenge.”

 

“Just because someone’s cute, doesn’t mean they know what they’re doing. Ask my dating life: Fred Laymon, Billy Presley, Hayden Christensen…”

 

“Hayden Christensen?”

 

“You know what our sex life was like? Sand. _Sand._ ”

 

***

 

That very night, Emma went over to Regina’s place. She made an effort to look her best, but, looking at the combined efforts of her limited wardrobe and a body that only Michelle Rodriguez could love, she admitted she was no Kate Upton. Still, she shaved her legs, brushed her teeth and even her tongue. Very abruptly, she wanted to do right by Regina.

 

She showed up at Regina’s precisely on time—if they were having sex, _that_ was probably the kind of thing Regina would get off on—and as she rang the doorbell, she thought maybe Regina would be dressed down too. She herself was wearing a little black dress: not too modest, not too provocative, and most importantly, not too expensive. She’d wear it to a PTA meeting if there were any halfway decent-looking teachers there. Maybe Regina would follow suit.

 

Then Regina opened the door. _Damnit,_ Emma thought. The former mayor was wearing a _red latex dress._ It wasn’t exactly revealing, cutting off just above her knees, but still, it was like being on a date with a superheroine from the kind of comic books she didn’t let Henry read.

 

“Mmm. You’re right on time,” Regina drawled. So, Emma was right about the punctuality thing.

 

Regina showed her inside, turning on the stereo with a remote (classical music) and taking a cooling pie (apple) off the windowsill. As they so often did, the two women had ended up in the kitchen.

 

“A little bite to eat before we get started?” Regina asked, pouring Emma a glass of milk. “I’m sure you came here in the mood for something sweet.”

 

“If we’re going to do double entendres, I think you should know I’m not very good at those.”

 

“Oh? You’re _bad_ then?”

 

“Yes. Very bad. At double entendres.” Emma blinked. “See what I mean?” She took a plate of warm apple pie and a fork, both gleefully offered by Regina. “By the way, no jokes about pie.”

 

“That’d be too obvious,” Regina agreed. “Enjoying the music? A movement from Ralph Vaughan Williams’ _Pastoral Symphony._ I hope it’s to your liking.”

 

“I feel like I’m in a Stanley Kubrick movie.”

 

Regina shrugged. “Let’s eat.”

 

Emma felt a bit like a high-priced call girl as she ate with Regina. They talked pleasantly about Henry, Mary-Margaret, David, sundry events, and the recent spate of lion sightings around town that had people convinced they were being visited by Simba. When they were done, Regina wrapped the pie plate and its last five slices in tin foil, put it in the fridge, then gave their dishes a quick rinse. While she was at the sink, Emma embraced Regina from behind. The latex dress was cool to the touch, but when Emma kissed her neck just above the collar, her skin was very warm.

 

“Emma…” Regina said gently, her voice tiny, “it’s not time for that yet.”

 

Emma blinked. “It’s not?” She’d been kinda… enthusiastically resigned to the possibility. And especially getting that red latex off. She knew how that stuff could be if you spent any considerable length of time in it. (Worst summer job ever.)

 

Regina slipped by her. “Come.”

 

“We kinda have to do the other stuff first, remember?”

 

Regina nodded her head toward the door. “ _Come._ ”

 

Emma went. Into the living room, where Regina sat her down in front of that obscenely over-sized TV of hers. With a gesture, a bowl of popcorn appeared on the coffee table. Regina slipped off her pumps and Emma did the same with her heels. Regina’s carpet was like petting a puppy with her feet.

 

“I’ve selected a little entertainment for the evening.” Regina turned off the stereo with a remote, then turned on the TV.

 

“If this is one of your sex tapes, I probably don’t want to see it. Like, fifty-fifty chance. If it’s you and Abigail, that’s one thing…”

 

“Abigail and I are just friends. And it’s French…”

 

“Oh God, does Gold know about you and Belle?”

 

Regina gave Emma a nostalgia-inducing glare. “It’s _Les Loups de mon Coeur,_ an underrated French sex comedy from the early seventies. You’ll like it. And I do not have sex tapes. I teach Henry, by example, that whatever deeds he finds necessary which may be _misunderstood_ by the general public, he should not record himself. I don’t take selfies while I’m spray-painting ‘tramp’ on Mary-Margaret’s car…”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Regina started the movie.

 

It wasn’t that bad, for an arty-fartsy French New Wave movie in French (Emma did not know what French New Wave was, besides an unacceptable Scrabble play). There were a lot of pratfalls and the like, but they were halfway plausible, not a bunch of Jerry Lewis stuff. And, even put into subtitles, a lot of the dialogue was funny. Ofttimes, Regina leaned over to whisper in her ear, explaining some subtlety that might’ve been lost on her. It wasn’t a put-on. Usually, Emma _was_ a bit confused about why this or that was a big deal, although sometimes she did actually understand why eating spaghetti bolognaise was a big deal.

 

The bigger deal was how they migrated over the course of two hours. After keeping the popcorn bowl between them for a while, Emma unthinkingly put it in her lap and Regina took the center seat to eat it from there. Every time Regina’s clever little hand dipped down to Emma’s legs, Emma felt a bolt of adrenaline hit her before she remembered that _she_ wasn’t the snack Regina was reaching for.

 

Then they ran out of popcorn. Emma retreated to the kitchen. There were a few loose long-necks of Gulpener Dortmunder in the fridge. Emma took two with her back into the living room. Regina was still on the center seat of the couch, long legs innocently crossed. Emma could’ve taken one of the love seats; it felt too much like running away. She resumed her old seat, offered Regina one of the beers, and was a little surprised when Regina accepted it. Though the ex-mayor needed a little help getting the cap off without a bottle opener.

 

After a while, and most of the bottle, Emma didn’t really _need_ the subtitles or Regina’s whispers to decipher the plot. It was a pretty stylized movie, but she _got_ it. There was a boy and a girl, living in a small fishing village. The girl was from the richest family in town, maybe the mayor’s daughter, while the boy had to work hard, even as a child, to help his father stay in business. They both liked each other a lot, but the boy thought that there was no way such a rich, beautiful girl would have any interest in him.

 

At some point, Regina put her hand on Emma’s thigh, bare except for the silk stocking that covered it. Her fingers explored the material as if they’d never felt anything like it before.

 

The boy and girl grew older. The boy’s friends, a band of hooligans who were pretty funny (for hooligans), got him into all sorts of trouble, trying to pair him up with a girl. Meanwhile, the girl started dating another guy, but he was gay and in love with one of the hooligans. Also, Emma thought the boy’s horse was psychic? Or something? She was afraid to ask Regina. Maybe it would make her take her hand away.

 

The movie ended, though Emma was a bit too tired to catch much of the third act. She’d have to watch it again. Regina stood, and the view of her skintight dress from behind was enough to wake Emma right up. Regina extended her hand to Emma. “Come,” she said with a smile, and helped Emma to her feet.

 

Then she was pulling Emma to the bedroom. Emma recognized the way from last time. Regina pulled back the sheets of her bed and stood there. If Emma could take a picture of that and turn it into a _Wish You Were Here_ card, she would’ve been a millionaire. Or a thousandaire. How many people still bought greeting cards these days?

 

“Your dress,” Regina said, her voice as warm as a vodka kick. “It’s very becoming, Emma. But I’m still going to have to ask you to remove it.”

 

Emma felt like her hands weren’t quite her own. A little numbly, they went down to the bottom of her dress, pulled-pulled-pulled until it was over her head and she was left in bra, panties, garters.

 

Regina walked up to her. Emma remembered enough of that night to think it had been like this. As scary as going up a roller-coaster, in some ways, but also safe. A weird feeling of safety you didn’t get in a fast car or a turbulent airliner. It was _supposed_ to feel dangerous, that was its job, and you gave into the feeling—Emma wasn’t drunk enough for her thoughts to be this tangled. She was excited, in the chemical sense. Her brain was in too much motion to _think._

Still in motion, Regina reached out to Emma. Touched her collarbone, with its little scar where a car accident had given her a compound fracture. Circled her, finger tracing her arm, its ungainly bicep, then to her back and the clasp of her bra. “Shall I?” she _purred_ in Emma’s ear, her voice dripping honey. Warm, sweet honey.

 

“If you want,” Emma replied, her voice catching and ebbing. Regina took her bra off for her. Set it aside without comment on its lack of frills, its tiny price tag.

 

“Lie on the bed,” Regina said. Emma recognized her voice now; the voice of a queen. So used to having her words obeyed that didn’t really _give_ orders. She just said what was going to happen. “Face down… please.”

 

Emma felt her body clench. Jesus, Regina didn’t mean she was going to— _God,_ it was their second date! Not that they’d said that was off-limits, but c’mon, Regina was polite society. What did she do for date number three, golden showers?

 

The worst part was, Emma wondered if she’d truly enjoy—Regina doing it.

 

She probably just wanted doggy-style. Trust Regina to go in for that. “Okay,” Emma said, putting a little dubiousness in her words to let Regina know she was _not_ domming her, just making a number of good suggestions. And she laid face down on the bed.

 

Then Emma heard Regina go to her dresser. She heard a drawer open. She heard a bottle being opened. She heard the rubbery sound of liquid leaving a container.

 

“Tell me, Emma.” Regina’s hands were rubbing together. “Have you ever had an oil massage?”

 

***

 

Regina’s hands were so soft and so caring and they were firm at the same time, finding knots of tension that had been with Emma since the orphanage and deftly untying them. Emma felt herself relaxing into Regina’s pillow so hard that she drifted into it, and it was all she could do to stay awake while Regina neatly disassembled all her muscles to clean out every little speck of discomfort she could find.

 

“Thought you wanted to have sex with me,” she said, a little more grumpily than she perhaps intended.

 

“I do,” Regina conceded. “But, _whatever_ your standards are, I hope to do a little better than plying you with bumper stick witticisms and fingering you for the thirty seconds it’ll take to find your spot. No, I’m making love to your mind, Emma.”

 

“What, like with a Q-tip?”

 

“It’s a campaign of seduction with only one purpose. To turn you into a pliant object of pleasure. When I’m done, you will know nothing but the heights of ecstasy you can ascend to, and the beauty of the one who has brought you there. You will say my name in quiet worship, and as much as you shout and curse in the future, I will always remember how your tongue sounded curled around my name, begging for the release that only I could—“

 

Emma yawned.

 

Regina blinked and stopped what she was doing with Emma’s spine. “Am I boring you, Ms. Swan?”

 

“I haven’t been getting much sleep lately… Big Bad Wolf case… please keep going? My back feels like it’s made of kitten.”

 

Regina reluctantly resumed rubbing Emma’s musculature into compliance. “As I was saying, I’m quite fond of my lovers squirting like my old royal fountains, so please expect to be deprived of a little fluid as you learn exactly what your body is truly capable—“

 

“Zzzzzzzz…”

 

Regina blinked calmly. “Very well, Emma, if that’s the way you feel, you can sleep on the couch. I’d wager it’s still a step-up from whatever moldy collection of goose down you call a bed.”

 

Emma continued to snore.

 

“Get up, Emma. You’re in my bed. This is my bed, Emma.” Regina took Emma’s arm and pulled on it. She might as well have tried to remove Excalibur from its stone. “Emma, this isn’t funny. That is my bed, it is specifically made for my sleep number, I cannot get a full ten hours of sleep unless I am in my bed, with my covers, my pillow, _and_ my ocean sounds!”

 

Emma’s lips moved in her sleep. “Why can’t Hiccup come to Storybrooke? Everyone else comes to Storybrooke…”

 

It occurred to Regina, not for the first time, that sometimes she was _so_ clever that she was, in fact, too clever for her own good. It came from living in a town of simpletons.

 

With a barely suppressed groan, Regina wiggled out of her dress—something Emma would’ve greatly enjoyed seeing were she not currently looking at Teletubbies with her parents’ faces. She set her CD player to calming ocean sounds; she also turned it up to drown out Emma’s snoring. Then she climbed into the other side of the bed—the sacrifices she made for the Charmings—and began marshaling her arguments that _this_ did not count as sleeping together as per their arrangement.

 

***

 

Emma woke up thinking for a good twenty seconds that she was lying on a pillow. When she realized it was Regina’s bosom, it took her another forty seconds to decide if that meant she had to move her head. Reluctantly, she went with ‘yes’, even if it meant that her face had gotten to second base without her.

 

“Dressing gowns are in the closet,” Regina said. “Don’t pick red _or_ black.”

 

Emma almost did a swan dive out of the bed. “Were you watching me sleep!?”

 

“No, I was meditating on how long one should wait before they call in the Jaws of Life to get a sleep-deprived blonde _off._ ”

 

“Hey, look, I’m really not that into sex toys, I know I give off a vibe…”

 

“It’s a paramedic tool…!” Regina began angrily, before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Please just kindly remove your carcass from my body.”

 

“Not what you were saying last night,” Emma said, rolling off her.

 

“Let me put this in pop culture references you’ll understand: Are you a Terminator? Medal endoskeleton wrapped in organic tissue? That would explain the weight—and the social graces.”

 

“You just don’t work out enough.” Emma hurried to the closet, not wanting Regina to get a good look at her humps _or_ her lovely lady lumps.

 

“I tanned just this weekend!” Regina countered.

 

***

 

Emma picked a turquoise dressing gown—the fact that Regina had enough colors in her closet to fill one of those brick-sized boxes of crayons made Emma wonder how many orgies she had to cloth on short notice. She left, and a few moments later Regina emerged from her bedroom in a red gown that did look stunning on her. Gesturing for Emma to follow, Regina went down to the breakfast nook to prepare a helping of waffles for the two of them. Emma started the coffee; seconds later, she was a bit nonplussed at how well they were working together. She sat resolutely down at the table rather than be anymore _simpatico._

“You finally get me alone and what do I get? Dinner and a movie. Admit it, Regina—this whole thing was just some damn power play.”

 

Regina’s eyes moved to her slowly—like a boss fight in a video game, giving her time to move to cover. “I was being considerate.”

 

“Considerate? What, you think I’m so frigid I need four hours of foreplay before we play ‘find the circus peanut’?”

 

“No, Emma. I was giving you time to back out—reconsider. True, that’s not your forte, but if you were going to branch out, I’d rather you do it before than after.”

 

Emma leaned back in her chair. “Okay. You gave me time to hit eject. Very sweet of you. But I’m still here, horny as hell, you didn’t do shit, and I am not watching anymore French movies.”

 

Regina went to the coffee machine, poured her share of the first pot into a World’s Greatest Mom (No, Really, I Checked) mug, and tinkered with it as a mad scientist plays with a chemistry set. “Oh, I don’t need the works of Jacques Demy to ensnare you. I can do it in one look.”

 

“Okay, I get it, I’m not a virgin, but I’m not _that_ easy.”

 

Taking a silver spoon from a cabinet, Regina stirred her coffee into its proper formation. “Oh, it has nothing to do with your… _ease._ A proper look and a _nun_ would find herself beguiled by me; don’t tell Astrid I said that.”

 

Emma smirked mockingly. “Alright, your worship. Hit me. It’s only six in the AM—you can seduce me and it’ll still technically be ‘last night.’”

 

Regina took a deep breath. Then a magic spell hit Emma, because one second she was looking at Regina Mills, occasional reluctant ally and full-time pain in her ass—the next, Regina was sucking a very, _very_ lucky spoon dry and her gown was a little open and she was looking at Emma like… like…

 

“The deuce you say!” Emma exclaimed, her life being a Medieval Times dinner theater rubbing off on her.

 

Regina drank from her mug, her eyes boring into Emma all the while. Then she set the mug down. _Licked her lips,_ actually licked them with her tongue, goddamnit. And she was moving toward Emma like a shark, a really sexy shark, like a shark that could make Emma rethink her strict ‘humans and the occasional flying monkey’ dating parameter.

 

“ _Ms. Swan_.” Regina said it like she knew exactly what she would find, pulling Emma’s gown open. “How many fingers do you think I should use? Normally, I’d go with two, so you can get used to moaning before you need to scream, but I’d just _bet_ that you’re so wet, I could use three.” She leaned in, and for a breathless moment Emma thought of all the places those parted lips could go before they ended up at the worst-best place of all; her ear. “Maybe you could reach down… and show me… just what you _want._ ” She took Emma’s hand. Raised it to her lips. Sucked a few fingers inside, which somehow made Emma’s knees very weak. Like how you couldn’t sneeze and open your eyes at the same time, Emma supposed.

 

“Oh my God,” Emma said as she began to touch herself, Regina still giving her that _look,_ but now directed at her fucking _pussy._ “How are you doing this? I used to be _straight,_ for Christ’s sake.”

 

Regina laughed darkly. “Oh, Emma. By the time I’m done, you won’t be able to find straight with a ruler.”


End file.
